


If I Tell Him That I Love Him

by gaylax_ies



Series: The Annual Christmas Fic [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Special, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17163281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylax_ies/pseuds/gaylax_ies
Summary: it's a motherfucking christmas miracleaka. the secret santa/pining/confession fic that no one asked for but me (and leo who i love)





	If I Tell Him That I Love Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leoincolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoincolour/gifts).



> year two of the annual christmas one-shot!! hope y'alls like it, and i hope everyone who celebrates christmas is having a merry one!! if you don't celebrate christmas, then happy holidays!!! i hope everyone is living their best lives.

Never, in his eighteen years of life, has Keith felt this defeated. He slumps over his desk, resting his cheek on his closed laptop - it’s not any help anyway. All the googling in the world can’t save him now.

He has six days left until Christmas, meaning six days left until Secret Santa, _meaning_ six days left until he plans to confess to Lance.

And he has nothing to show for it. Nothing heartfelt, nothing cute, nothing… at all. He’s going to be the douchebag showing up to Secret Santa empty-handed because he was too busy wallowing and searching for some kind of dramatic heartfelt gesture.

He slams his forehead down against the desk, hoping that he’ll be able to put himself out of his misery.

It doesn’t work, because apparently nothing is working out for him today.

After a while, he gives up on sitting at his desk and lumbers over to his bed, flopping down face-first. His mind is overflowing with ideas, but it feels like none of them are… right. They’re all okay, they’d all work, but nothing clicks. Nothing stands out to him, or screams _‘Lance!’_

He rolls over in bed and shimmies his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he spots her.

If anyone knows what Lance would want, it’s his mother.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Keith, sweetie. Are you alright? Is Lance okay?” She asks in greeting, and Keith can hear something sizzling on the stove in the background.

“Yeah, we’re both fine! Sorry for worrying you,” he replies, “I was just wondering what you think Lance would want for Christmas?”

Mrs. McClain chuckles softly, and Keith can practically hear her eyes roll. “Oh, Keith, honey, you know him just as well as I do. What do _you_ think he’d want?”

“I don’t know! I’ve been trying to figure it out forever,” he whines, kicking his legs childishly. Mrs. McClain laughs at him again, softly.

“Just go with your heart, Keith. You can’t go wrong if you listen to what you love.”

Keith sighs. Philosophical advice wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for when he called, but he doesn’t know what else he was expecting - Mrs. McClain isn’t known for providing people with easy ways out.

“Alrighty, Mrs. McClain,” he says, “I’ll… see what I can do.”

“Keith, please, call me Rosa.”

“Ah, okay, sorry, Mrs. McClain.”

She snorts at him, and he chuckles in response.

“Ah, Keith, we’ve missed you around here,” she says, “make sure to stop by next time you’re home.”

“Will do!”

“Let me know how to gift hunt goes,” she adds, “and have a Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas! Bye, Mrs. McClain!”

“Bye, sweetie.”

Keith feels oddly satisfied when he hangs up the phone - he’s not any closer to finding a Christmas present for Lance, but he’s calmer. Mrs. McClain seems to have that affect on all of them. He leans back, eyes roaming over the glow-stars tacked to his ceiling.

Lance’s mom’s voice jogs a lot of memories; her, calling Keith and Lance to dinner through the window as they hung out on the swings in the backyard, her patching up Keith’s scraped knees and palms after he fell off his skateboard, her singing in the kitchen as Keith helped Lance clean his room. He has a lifetime of memories within the McClains.

So why the _hell_ is it so difficult for him to figure out what to get Lance for Christmas.

There’s a lifetime of memories surrounding them, and yet he can’t think of one single thing to give his best friend for Christmas.

“Ugh.”

He rolls over, burying his face in his pillow as if he’s hoping he’ll suffocate.

“This… should… not… be… so…. hard!” He mutters into the fabric, kicking his legs indignantly. He’s been buying Lance Christmas gifts for the past six years, but those gifts have been stupid gags, like a Grow-a-Girlfriend and a Star-Trek bathrobe. He’s never tried to get something sincere, or sentimental. He’s never tried to give Lance a meaningful gift.

He needs something that can’t be replaced, something one of a kind, something personal.

“A friendship bracelet.”

The words come to his lips before he’s consciously aware of it but, the second the thought makes itself known, Keith is convinced. A hand-made friendship bracelet is perfect, because it’s something Lance taught him how to do.

He smiles as he thinks back on it.

Lance was sitting on his back porch, leaning against the wall of his house, the late summer sun beating down on him as he slowly guided Keith through the careful movements of his fingers. He had strings pinned to the knee of his jeans to keep them taut as he showed Keith how to tie the delicate knots to bring them all together and, to this day, Keith has the first bracelet Lance made him. It’s long since fallen off his wrist, so he had to make it into a keychain - every time Lance sees that he still has it, he smiles faintly.

Keith rockets out of bed, jamming his feet into his shoes and sliding his wallet and phone into his pockets. He throws on his coat and a hat and rushes to the bus stop, already planning out the colours and pattern for the bracelet he’s going to make for Lance.

The bus trip to the mall is quick, and Keith is staggering through the late December snow drifts towards Michael’s Craft Store. He sighs when he pushes through the door, pulling his hat off. He starts wandering around aimlessly, more willing to die than he is to ask for help, until he stumbles across a promising aisle.

The walls are lined with spools of embroidery floss in all different colours, and Keith feels instantly overwhelmed with all the choices. He takes in a heavy breath and closes his eyes.

When he thinks of Lance, the first colour he sees is blue. A deep, hearty shade of blue, the colour of Lance’s bright eyes, of the lake that Lance taught him to swim in. The next is a paler blue, like the paint on Lance’s bedroom walls or the shades of the sky as they lay on their backs in Lance’s backyard. And, oddly enough, the last colour is red, like the lollipops Lance always prefers, or the freezies that were always stocked up in the McClain’s freezer.

His eyes quickly scan over the wall of colours, and he pulls the spools that match his mind’s eye. He also grabs a white and a black because he’s not entirely certain how two blues and a red will look together. Then he grabs a package of bracelet clasps - usually, he and Lance would just tie the bracelets directly onto each other’s wrists, but they always, inevitably, fall off.

He wants this bracelet to last.

Then his eyes catch on a package of slightly curved memo plates, looking like little ID tags, and a new idea pops into his head.

He could get a plate engraved with… something, and tie it into the bracelet.

But what the hell would he engrave onto it?

He practically hears Lance’s voice in his head, the fond way Lance told him about his favourite spot back in Cuba. He remembers lying with his head in Lance’s lap at the end of summer, Lance’s skin even more sun-kissed than usual, as Lance recounted the adventures from his latest annual family vacation.

He yanks out his phone and looks up the coordinates of Varadero Beach.

Then he searches for “how to engrave metal” and, fuck, that’s difficult. But there’s a place a few stores down that does custom t-shirts, and he’s pretty sure they do engraving as well. He pays for the thread, clasps, and ID plates and hauls ass out of the Michaels.

“Hey, man,” the clerk of the custom store says as he enters. Keith’s been in here enough that he recognizes the employees and they recognize him, and he lifts his chin as a greeting.

“Hey,” he replies, “uh, do you guys do engraving here?”

The employee nods, his pale hair flopping into his eyes. He blows it away. “Yeah, man, what do you need engraved?”

Keith pulls out the ID plate and slides it across the counter, and the employee lifts it up to his face, turning it over in his fingers.

“Cool, we can do this,” he says after a moment, setting the plate back on the counter. “What do you want engraved?”

“Coordinates to Varadero Beach,” Keith answers, passing his phone over, the coordinates still pulled up on his browser.

The employee whistles lowly, blinking at Keith’s phone. “That’s a lotta numbers, kid.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Keith replies with a chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. The employee looks up at him, and then back at the phone, and then back up at him. He shrugs.

“Eh, whatever, we’ll do it,” he says, pulling out a notepad and carefully jotting down the coordinates, double-checking before he passes Keith’s phone back. He puts the ID plate and sticky note in a little plastic bag and sets them on the counter behind him.

“It’ll take, like, an hour? So you can go walk around, do some last minute Christmas shopping, whatever. Just… show me your ID.”

Keith’s eyebrows raise as he pulls his driver’s license out of his wallet, handing it over. The employee scribbles his name down and sticks the note onto the computer monitor before sliding Keith’s ID back to him.

“Alrighty, Keith, I’ll see ya in an hour.”

Keith tips his chin up again as he slides him wallet back into his pocket, waving over his shoulder as he leaves the store.

He’s got an hour, and nothing to do.

Shiro’s warning rings in his head: _“we’re doing Secret Santa so you_ don’t _have to buy gifts for everyone! Just buy for the person you got!”_

But Keith’s never really been known to listen to Shiro.

He hikes his backpack up over his shoulder and beelines towards Barnes & Noble, straight to the stationery display at the back of the store. His eyes land on a forest green Moleskine notebook.

He blinks as he remembers a conversation with Pidge he’d had earlier that month. She’d twirled her pen in her fingers and told him, “I’ve always wanted one of those pretty notebooks, but I’d feel a little like a dumbass buying one for myself.”

He picks up the notebook, grabbing a graph paper one because he knows she’s out of it. He taps his fingers on the cover gently.

She’ll love it.

In Barnes & Noble, he also picks up ‘The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck’ for Allura because she mentioned once that she wanted to read it. After ringing his stuff up, he walks over to Marshall’s, where he grabs a new pair of workout tights for Shiro - he ripped his earlier this week. Then he grabs a set of measuring cups and spoons for Hunk, making sure they have ounces, cups, and millilitres, because he knows Hunk’s been looking around for those for a long time. He even grabs Curtis a winter hat, because he never never wears one and it’s infuriating.

It’s all small stuff. If he doesn’t wrap it, he can maybe pass it off as stuff he picked up because he knew they needed it and he was there. He can tell his friends they can pay him back, and just never collect their money.

He’s not technically breaking Shiro’s rules. He’s just… bending them.

That’s right.

He swings by StarBucks when he’s finished at Marshall’s, padding for time before he goes back to pick up the engraved plate.

When he finally heads back to the shop, having also stopped by a few stores to pick up varied things for Lance, the employee is leaning over the counter, fiddling with the baggie in his hand. He looks up as Keith walks in.

“Hey, man, right on time,” he says, setting the baggie down on the counter. Keith instinctively pulls out his wallet, setting it down on the counter next to the plate. He picks it up and gently slides the newly engraved plate out into his palm, examining it closely.

“All good?” The employee asks, scratching his chin with one hand as he plonks something into the register. Keith nods.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s perfect. Thank you,”

“Alright, nice. It’ll be fifteen bucks,” he says. Keith hands over the cash and pockets the bag. He wishes the clerk a quick ‘Happy Holidays’ as he leaves, already preoccupied with the bracelet he’s about to make.

Keith Kogane has officially got his game back.

 

Keith is the first to arrive at Shiro’s apartment, which makes no sense to him considering her’s fifteen minutes late. He shrugs, kicking his boots off in the doorway and dumping his coat on the ground in the corner.

“Hey, Shi!” He calls, taking a few steps into the apartment. Shiro pokes his head out of the kitchen.

“Keeks, you’re here early,” he says, drying his hands off on his jeans and giving Keith a one-armed hug. Keith smiles at him.

“I’m not, but I got you new workout tights-”

“Were you my Secret Santa?” Shiro interrupts, levelling Keith with an unimpressed glare. Keith shrugs.

“No, but-”

“Keith, come on! You cheated!”

“Shi, I just picked them up because I was there and you needed some. You can pay me back later if you want,” Keith says, reaching into the plastic bag by his side and pulling out the tights. Shiro

eyes them and sighs.

“Fine. Thank you. But I’m paying you back the minute I have cash,” he insists, taking the black fabric in his hands. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Is Curt around?” He asks, gaze wandering about the apartment. “I grabbed him a winter hat.”

“Keith, for _fuck’s sake,_ ” Shiro growls, clamping a hand around Keith’s shoulder and scowling at him. Keith shrugs.

“Shiro, look me in the eyes and tell me, honestly, that you didn’t buy anything for anyone who you weren’t Secret Santa for.”

Shiro flushes, taking a step back from Keith and averting his gaze. “Well, like…”

Keith crosses his arms over his chest indignantly, raising an eyebrow, and Shiro huffs and turns around.

“Curt’s in the bathroom,” he says, walking back into the kitchen. Keith chuckles at his retreating back and heads into the dining room to set his gift for Lance on the table, folding the opaque plastic bag around it so the wrapping isn’t visible. Then he sits heavily on the couch, curling his legs up under him.

“Hey, Keeks,” Curtis says, popping his head into the living room. He sits down next to Keith, patting his shoulder once.

“Curt, hey, I grabbed you something.” Keith grabs the hat out of his plastic bag and hands it over. “It pisses me off how you never wear hats in the winter.”

“I don’t need one.”

“Curt, you literally just got over a cold,” Shiro counters, coming out from the kitchen with a platter of crackers and cheese in his hands. He sets it on the coffee table and sits down next to Curtis, tucking himself under Curtis’ arm. Curtis scowls, begrudgingly taking the hat from Keith and pulling it on.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and Shiro digs an elbow into his side. Curt pats Keith’s shoulder, smiling at him, and Keith smiles back.

“Merry Christmas, dudes!” Pidge’s voice calls from the doorway. Keith looks over towards the door, where she and Hunk are shucking off their coats and boots. Hunk raises his hand in a little wave, unwinding his scarf from around his face.

“Hiya,” he says, hitching up the canvas bag on his shoulder. “Shiro, I brought some food, where should I put it?”

Shiro hops up, leading Hunk towards the kitchen, and Hunk takes Pidge’s plastic bag from her hand before he goes. Pidge sits on the edge of the sofa that Curt and Keith are occupying.

“Pidgey, I got you something,” Keith says, reaching into his bag and pulling out the notebook. Pidge snorts softly, and wordlessly affixes a pin to the breast of his flannel. Then she takes the notebook into her hands, smiling, and nudges his shoulder.

“Thanks, Keeks,” she whispers, trailing his fingers over the cover of the book. Keith glances down at the pin of a sword that she put on his shirt and smiles.

“I love this, where’d you get it?” He asks. Pidge slides into the small space between him and the arm of the couch, throwing her legs over his lap and starting to chatter away about a new shop she found, where they 3D print a bunch of little trinkets. After a minute, Hunk comes out of the kitchen with a red tin box in his hands.

“I made you tiger brownies,” he says, sitting on the armchair next to the couch and passing Keith the tin. Keith beams, taking it eagerly, because Hunk’s tiger brownies are killer and he’d eat them for the rest of his life.

“Yes, thank you!” He chuckles, opening the tin and reaching for a brownie. Hunk slaps his hand away.

“I’m glad you’re eager, but you’ll spoil your dinner,” he chastises like a grandmother. Keith and Pidge both snort at him in unison as he takes the tin out of Keith’s hands and replaces the lid.

“Oh, Hunk, I picked up some new measuring cups for you. I knew you needed them,” Keith says, taking the cups out of his beg and handing them over. Hunk turns them appreciatively in his hands.

“Dude, they have all three units of measurement! Hell yes,” he cheers, smiling up at Keith, who reaches across Pidge to tap his shoulder.

“You know when Lance and Lur are showing up?” Pidge asks, reaching over the armrest to attach a pin to Hunk’s denim shirt. Hunk pulls his phone out and taps in his password.

“Yeah, he’ll probably be here in-”

“Hello, everyone!”

“Speak of the devil,” Pidge mumbles, chuckling. Lance saunters into the apartment, Allura following at his heels. He takes the bag from her and carries it into the dining room, and she sits lightly on the floor against Keith’s knees. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a StarBucks gift card, handing it over her shoulder wordlessly. Keith gives her the book he picked up, just as silently, and she nods happily, tapping her fingernails over the cover lightly.

“Alrighty,” Shiro says, stepping out of the kitchen and wiping his hands on a towel. “Thanks to Hunk, we have a fantastic meal ready. So, are we ready to eat?”

There’s a small chorus of whoops and cheers around the group, and they all pile into the dining room, placing the Secret Santa gifts on the floor. Keith watches as Lance moves his gift, and he breaks out in a cold sweat.

He wants Lance to know he loves him.

But he’s scared to ruin everything.

 

After dinner, they all pile back into the living room, sprawling across Shiro’s furniture. Keith sits against Hunk’s knees on the floor, fiddling with his fingers as he watches Allura open her Secret Santa gift. He tries to pay attention, but his mind is elsewhere.

All he can think of is confessing to Lance.

Because, the second Lance opens the gift from him, he’ll know.

It’s not the bracelet, or the body wash, or the ‘Grow Your Own Salsa’ kit - that Keith saw and couldn’t pass up - that’ll give him away. It’s the card, the single sentence scrawled in Keith’s handwriting, the bold declaration that there’s no shying away from.

_“Lance, I love you.”_

His shoulders shake lightly, and he wraps his arms around himself.

“Keith?” Shiro says, catching his attention. He passes over a red metallic gift bag with tufts of white wrapping paper sticking out over the top. “Wanna open?”

Keith plasters on a smile and nods, struggling to hide the trembling of his fingers as he sets the gift bag in his lap and pulls the paper away. He smiles for real when he pulls out a little stuffed hippo, hugging it to his chest and laughing.

For a minute, he thinks he sees pride flash across Lance’s eyes.

He also receives a cinnamon and cloves scented candle and a new red flannel shirt, which he instantly presses his nose to, because the smell of new flannel is always good to him. Lance snorts when he does that.

“You’re supposed to smell the _candle,_ Keeks,” he taunts, and Keith throws a ball of tissue paper at him.

He almost forgets what he’s worried about.

Keyword: _almost._

Because, when Shiro hands Lance the blue gift bag, Keith’s initial reaction is to run away, or to smack it out of Lance’s hands, screaming all the while. He digs his fingers into his knees, wide eyes locked on Lance as he pulls the silver paper out of the bag.

The first thing he picks up is the body wash, and he immediately flips the cap to sniff it.

“Damn, that’s good,” he sighs, shutting the bottle and placing it next to him. Keith knew he would love it - it smelled exactly like the ocean, and Lance always loves the fresh, salty scents.

Then, he pulls out the salsa kit and snorts, beaming at it. He taps his fingers against the box, reading the label for a second, and sets it down with the body wash.

Keith’s heart nearly stops when Lance pulls out the small cardboard box with the bracelet in it. He works the lid off carefully and picks it up, eyes roaming over the engraved plate. He mouths out the coordinates, and his eyes widen.

“Is this… Varadero Beach?” he breathes, mostly to himself, as he runs his fingers reverently over the knotted rope. His eyes are glassy.

It feels like Keith’s heart is melting.

“Oh, oh man,” Lance whispers, chuckling lightly, with flushed cheeks. “I love it. Thanks to whoever did that.”

Keith clenches his fists tightly as Lance looks down into the bag again.

“Oh, shit, where are my manners, there’s a card,” he says, and Keith’s breath hitches as Lance pulls the card out of the red envelope.

If he reads it aloud, Keith is done for.

Lance’s eyes skim the single line of text once, and then again, brows furrowing. He closes the card, blinks, and smiles, but Keith can read the confusing clear on his face. Lance’s eyes lock on his, and Keith blanches.

Conversation swells around them again, but everything feels muted to Keith. All he can focus on is Lance.

_“Is it you?”_ Lance mouths, just a subtle twitch of his lips, so imperceptible that Keith wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it. He swallows over the lump in his throat, and nods.

Lance stands, stepping over Pidge’s legs and excusing himself to the hallway, and Keith gives chase.

“Lance, I-”

Keith starts to speak, but Lance’s hands are tangling in open sides of his flannel, pulling him into his lips.

Keith’s mind goes blank.

He wraps his arms around Lance’s neck

And then, out of nowhere, he starts to cry.

“Whoa, whoa, Keith, it’s okay,” Lance whispers, alarmed as he pulls back to wipe the tears from Keith’s cheeks. They keep coming, dripping over Lance’s fingers, and Keith presses his hand to his mouth to hide to soft sobs coming from his chest. Lance gives up on trying to dry Keith’s tears, instead wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and hugging him.

“Hey, it’s okay! Why are you crying?” He asks softly, rubbing circles into Keith’s back. Keith knots his fingers into Lance’s shirt and buries his face in Lance’s shoulder, stifling his pathetic little sounds.

Why the _hell_ is he crying? Everything’s coming up aces for him!

He presses his eyes to Lance’s shoulder.

Everything is so overwhelming for his right now, so he swallows his pride and lets Lance hold him, comfort him, trail his fingernails soothingly up and down his back.

After a minute, when Keith’s tears have slowed and his throat is no longer threatening to close up completely, he leans back and blinks into Lance’s eyes.

“Lance,” he whispers, “you’re not just fucking with me, are you?”

Lance looks like he’s been slapped in the face. He takes a step back. “What? No! Keith, I wouldn’t do that.”

That’s all the convincing Keith needs to throw his arms around Lance’s shoulders again, pressing his lips to his. Lance gasps in surprise, and it turns into a laugh as his own arms wrap around Keith’s waist, lifting him up on his toes.

“Lance,” Keith whispers against his lips, “Jesus Christ. I’m in love with you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Keeks. I love you too,” Lance replies, laughing against Keith’s lips. “It fucking took you long enough!”

Lance’s laughter is contagious; Keith can’t help but grin as Lance peppers kisses over his cheeks and chin.

They stay in the hallway, kissing and giggling like lovesick kids, until someone clears their throat from the end of the hallway. Keith and Lance leap away from each other, looking like deer in the headlights, as though they were caught doing something illegal.

Curtis scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, don’t let me stop… whatever you were doing. But you’re in the way of the bathroom.”

Keith and Lance step out of the way, and Curtis steps past them, stopping for just a minute to lay his hand on Keith’s shoulders.

“I’m happy for you two,” he says softly. “It’s been a long time in the making.”

“Well, it’s only been like, 4,000 words-”

“Anyway, get back out there. Shiro’s been wondering where you are.” Curtis pats Keith’s shoulder once and continues past them, stepping into the bathroom. Keith and Lance catch each other’s eyes and break down into laughter, and Lance pulls Keith in by the back of the neck.

“Wanna head back out?” He asks against Keith’s lips. Keith nods, threading their fingers together.

“Did it finally happen?” Pidge asks when they walk back out into the living room, eyes immediately landing on their clasped hands. Keith’s bright red flush is the only answer the room needs before breaking out in a rowdy chorus of whoops. Hunk pats Lance’s shoulder, and Allura pulls Keith into a hug.

“Cool it, guys,” Lance chuckles, “it’s not like we’re getting married.”

_“Yet,”_ Shiro tacks on, lightly elbowing Keith’s side. Keith swats him away with a snort, letting Lance pull him over to the couch. He settles in under Lance’s arm, leaning into him and beaming out across the room.

Lance buries his face in Keith’s hair, softly whispering.

“Merry Christmas, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> COMMENT! ON! MY! FUCKERY! PLEASE I CRAVE VALIDATION SO MUCH


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